


Hold On to What You Have

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Gwen has her eye on one of the English Literature professors at her college. He's everything a girl could ask for, good looking, a gentleman, rich, and thoughtful the only exception being his attitude toward his son, Arthur, and his son's lover Merlin. Gwen however begins to teach him how to love again, and how to hold on to what you have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On to What You Have

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this kmm prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/25900.html?thread=26184748#t26184748). Please note the pairing and rating!

The first time they meet, she's terrified. He gives her an imperious stare and asks her if she's quite sure that she's got the right room, in a tone of voice which implies she's barely worth the air she's currently breathing. Gwen hasn't got the right room, of course, it's her first week at Camelot University and she's hopelessly lost looking for her Romantic Poets Seminar. She blushes, stammers an apology and nearly trips over her own feet in her haste to retreat.

For the next couple of years he's barely on her radar. She hears about him, of course, from other students, tales of students fleeing Professor Pendragon's tutorials in tears. He never teaches undergraduates if he can help it, and even then only third-years. Prefers to bury himself in his research. She hears rumours, though, about a tragic past – he's a widower, she discovers, with an estranged son, or so the whispers say. Morgana, the older girl who mentors Gwen in her first year and stays her friend after that, knows more than most; it's common knowledge that Morgana is sleeping with Professor Alvarr of the Religious Studies department, and therefore has inside information. Not so scary when you get to know him, is Morgana's assessment. And indeed, by the start of her third year Gwen has forgotten to think of Professor Pendragon as scary at all; he's become fascinating to her, an intrigue, a mystery to be solved, to be tamed, perhaps. (Gwen always thinks of him as Professor Pendragon, although she knows his first name is Uther.)

He needs someone to take care of him, she thinks, finding herself daydreaming about smoothing the lines on his forehead with a gentle caress. She has a job in the coffee shop in the Humanities Building and Professor Pendragon comes in frequently. She knows how he likes his tea and always cuts him an extra large slice of his favourite lemon drizzle cake, on the days he decides to order it. Sometimes, she thinks, he looks at her like he's trying to puzzle her out. She always smiles brightly and wishes him a good day, hoping perhaps to bring a little brightness to her day. He doesn't smile back and doesn't speak to her except to place his order, and once, a little lost, to ask for a spoon when there were none in the tray. But he nods, and she doesn't think she's imagining the slight familiarity to his expression.

She doesn't even realise it's a crush, at first, it sort of creeps up on her gradually. Even when she's re-reading _Jane Eyre_ and marking the important passages for her dissertation and it's his face she sees every time she pictures Mr. Rochester. It's only when she catches him holding her gaze a little longer than usual as she serves him his tea and cake, meets his eye more than once when she's been given special dispensation to access the restricted section of the Old Library where the illuminated manuscripts are kept and he's there working with a couple of his MA students, only then when her heart beats a little faster each time does Gwen begin to realise that perhaps she's a little out of her depth.

*

The floor's swept, the last of the coffee cups washed and put away and she's looking forward to grabbing some dinner before she goes to this party Morgana's invited her to at the post-grad common room. She's been thinking a lot recently about staying on to do postgrad here at Camelot, after she's finished her BA. It has nothing to do with her silly crush on Professor Pendragon, she wouldn't have anything to do with him, her speciality is Victorian Literature, not Medieval. Besides, she thinks with a scowl, that new Lecturer, the one with the semi-famous book out about The Significance of Gold in Old English Texts, Dr. Catrina Whatshername (Gwen knows her name very well, but thinks she's justified in allowing herself a little fit of pique, in the circumstances) has been all over Professor Pendragon ever since she got here.

Gwen leans the mop against the wall in the cleaning cupboard and reaches to untie her apron when the door opens.

"I'm sorry," she says, without even looking over her shoulder, "We're closing."

"Oh dear," replies a cultured voice she recognises instantly, "And I find myself in dire need of tea." Gwen wipes her hands nervously on her apron as she turns around to face Professor Pendragon. She bites down on the impulse to tell him that there's tea back at her house; in all likelihood there's none, anything put down on any surface for more than five minutes is usually consumed by her housemates. Besides, the thought of Professor Pendragon in her shabby student house, with the unwashed pans in the kitchen and the underwear hung up to dry in the lounge is excruciatingly embarrassing.

"I'm really very sorry," Gwen tells him, and she is; if she can do nothing more for him than serve him tea, she should at least be allowed to do that much. "The Queen's Building Restaurant is open until seven, they serve tea."

"I suppose that'll have to do, then," he sighs, "Although their tea is nowhere near as good as yours." He means 'yours' in reference to the cafe, she knows this, it isn't personal, but she finds her cheeks heating all the same.

"There's a cafe in town, Browns, they sell quite a wide selection of teas. And lemon cake." She bites her lip. That was too much. Now he'll think she's some kind of stalker.

"That sounds preferable." He pauses and there's a hint of what she thinks might be a smile on his face. It's hard to tell, the idea of Professor Pendragon smiling is so unusual she hardly knows how to recognise it. "Would you care to join me?"

"I... really? Me? I mean, obviously me, I'm the only one here, but... are you, that is...?" She curses her propensity to babble when nervous. The smile - if indeed that is what it was - drops from his face.

"Of course, if you have other plans I wouldn't dream of interrupting them," he says, all politeness and she can't deny it fast enough.

"No, I don't... I haven't..."

"But if you are free then I would count it a favour if you would... ah... show me where this cafe is and join me for some cake. I... wouldn't be averse to the company. My treat, of course." She's heard him speak before, caught a couple of his lectures and heard him discussing theories with colleagues or berating students for late essays. She's never heard him be this hesitant before.

"I... I'd love to. Thank you." She gets into a tangle untying her apron and almost forgets to grab her coat. She doesn't know what to think. He's asked her for coffee – is this simply politeness, or is it a date? They've barely even spoken to each other before today.

"It's Guinevere, isn't it?" He knows my name, she thinks, dazed. Usually she dislikes her given name, prefers people to shorten it to Gwen, but something about the way he says it sound different. Makes her _feel_ different.

"Yes sir," she replies, a slight croak in her voice.

"Please, don't 'sir' me, Guinevere. You must call me Uther." He smiles again and she feels her mouth go dry.

 

*

It's not like any date she's ever been on. Uther opens the door for her, takes her coat, pulls her chair out for her to sit on. He insists on paying for everything, even though Gwen has a second slice of cake. The perfect gentleman. He's utterly charming and Gwen doesn't know how she ever found him forbidding and unapproachable.

They stick to safe topics at first, the university, her studies, his research, the execrable tea to be found in the staff common room and the pretensions of the college librarian. She discovers that besides tea and lemon cake and Medieval Literature he enjoys Wagner and collects dragon figurines. She tells him about her love for _Jane Eyre_ and how she likes to draw. They talk for hours; Gwen had expected him to be reticent on the subject of his late wife and resolved not to bring it up, but although a shadow of pain crosses his face as he mentions her, he's the one who brings her into the conversation, reminiscing about how they had once climbed Snowdon together, the views in his late wife's native Wales, how he misses the country but could never imagine returning. He speaks briefly of his son, Gwen discovers his name is Arthur and that he's at university in Manchester and that they don't see eye to eye. She doesn't press him on it, but tells him instead about her brother, Elyan, who hasn't been home in two years.

Almost without their noticing it, the hours drift by and all too soon the cafe is closing. They rise reluctantly, lingering outside the door. Gwen looks down at her watch.

"I should probably... Morgana will be waiting for me, we're supposed to... there's a party..."

"Of course." He says shortly and she bites her lip, regretting mentioning the party, highlighting the difference in their ages, their stations.

"But I... I enjoyed the tea. And the well, talking. To you, I mean, I..."

"I know." And just like that, the curious feeling of kindred spirits re-ignited in the face of all this uncertainty. She's still not sure if this was a date in the traditional sense, despite this way they seem to have clicked. Does he want to kiss her? To see her again? Or is this some kind of platonic friendship, a meeting of minds, rather than bodies. She wants to kiss him, she thinks, but would never be forward enough to dare without being sure of his own feelings on the matter. "Guinevere." Her thoughts are arrested by the way her name rolls off his tongue, at once too respectful and too intense. "I would like to take you out to dinner. Are you free tomorrow night." She nods, not trusting herself to speak. He takes her hand and kisses it and it's all she can manage not to swoon right there in the street.

*

Gwen spends too much time getting ready for their dinner date. She ropes Morgana into braiding her hair for her, skilfully avoiding all her friend's pointed questions about who her mystery man is. Although she knows Morgana wouldn't judge her for going out with a professor - it would be more than a little hypocritical considering her own situation - for some reason Gwen wants to keep this to herself, just for now. To have something that's secret and all her own. She doesn't know if Professor – if _Uther_ \- is all her own, not yet, but she feels full of possibility, like she might burst with it.

He's just as charming as he was on the previous afternoon. The restaurant he's taken her to is one of the finest in town, trendier than she'd thought he would be into and more expensive than anything she would have been able to afford on her own. She's been on dates before, during her time at Camelot, but most nights out off campus have ended up in the local Wetherspoons. This is a bit different, and she's glad she wore her best shoes.

"You look beautiful, Guinevere," Uther says as he sees her, and Gwen can't help but compare to the last boy who tried to chat her up by telling her she had a 'great rack'. She rolls her eyes inwardly at the memory, before thanking Uther for his compliment with a shy smile. He looks good himself in a silver-grey suit and open-necked shirt in deep blue and she tells him so, rewarded when the skin of his neck flushes darker.

He pulls her chair out for her again, and when the waiter brings the wine he tastes and approves it like he actually knows what he's talking about. The table is small, intimate, and her stockinged knee brushes against his. After the first time she doesn't apologise, enjoying the way he squirms and flusters every time it happens. They talk more. He mentions his son in passing but scowls a little each time so she doesn't ask any more about him, even beginning to resent this unknown boy for whatever he's done that so upset his father.

The gentleness with which Uther treats her is such a marked contrast from his fearsome reputation; something in that thrills her and she finds herself staring a little at his hands, unable to keep from wondering how they'd touch her – soft and caressing or rough and possessive. Neither option is unappealing and she flushes when she looks up again and catches his eye. There's something in his eyes, dark and curious, and she feels her breath catch.

The moment is interrupted by the waiter who brings the fish and Gwen takes a large sip of her wine while she tries to compose herself.

After dinner is over they walk along by Camelot River, the sleeves of their coats brushing occasionally. The anticipation is almost tangible, Gwen can see it in their breaths as they mist in the night air.

Uther offers to drive her home. She thanks him again for the evening and then, before she can lose her nerve, leans across to kiss him on the cheek. He lays one hand on her arm before she can pull away completely, there's a second or so of eye contact and then they're kissing properly. It's soft at first but not lacking in desire, deepening, the two of them leaning in, craving more contact until Gwen's knee bumps the gear stick and she pulls back a little with a nervous giggle.

"I don't think this is the best place for this," she says, and looks up at him through her lashes. It's not quite an invitation, she doesn't want to appear _too_ forward, but they are right outside her house and if he asked, she'd let him come inside, pans and washing and housemates be damned. Uther just nods, suddenly serious, but swoops in and kisses her again thoroughly. His hand drops from her arm to her hip, twitching as though he would like to explore further but can't quite bring himself to, waiting for something, permission perhaps, and she's ready to give it to him, to climb across and say 'here in your car if you like, I don't care', when he pulls away.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Guinevere," he says, meaning it, and she nods, smoothing down her rumpled blouse and taking it for the goodbye it is.

"Goodnight," she says as she gets out of the car, legs a little shaky.

*

It's all too perfect to be true, of course, and everything comes tumbling down the following Monday, when Uther all but accosts her in a corridor.

"Guinevere, could I have a word?"

She frowns at his tone, it certainly doesn't sound as though he's pulling her into his office for a secret tryst. He looks at her for a long time, once the door is safely shut behind them, then looks away and sighs.

"I can't do this. With you. Guinevere, I..." He looks up at her, his expression is lost, not completely cold and dismissive, this is a struggle for him, she can tell. All the same, she takes a step back as if winded.

"You don't like me that way?" she asks, demands, because she knows the answer to that question, he _does_ like her, she knows he does.

"It's not that. I can't... I'm not ready... not with anyone, and not with you, you're so young and I'm... I'm not right for you."

"Don't you think I should be the one to decide that?" She asks. She's not a child, she's almost twenty-three and capable of making her own decisions. She tells him as much, trying her hardest to keep her voice level, not to waver or allow a note of petulance which would belie her words to creep in.

"You're a student."

"I'm not _your_ student, though," she points out. It's not against any regulations. Besides, Morgana and Alvarr, she wants to add, but keeps quiet, just in case that is something of which Uther does not approve. He's mentioned 'inappropriate relationships', once, with a nose wrinkled in distaste and she can't be sure what he meant by it.

"I'm sorry."

His mind is made up and she leaves his office in tears, just like all those other students before her. She hopes she is the only one to leave for this reason. She'd have heard if he was a serial seducer. Besides, he'd barely got his hands on her and something about the tentative nature of his touches assured her he isn't all that used to this sort of thing anymore than she is. It had meant something, they'd meant something to each other, she's sure of it, but if he isn't prepared to fight for that, well... Story of her life, she sniffs, recalling her first boyfriend, Lance.

 

*

Uther doesn't come to the cafe for his tea anymore. Gwen looks forlornly at the lemon cake, uneaten by the throngs of students and has to fight the urge to crumble it beneath her hands. When they pass each other in the corridor of the department, they don't meet each other's eyes. Gwen tries to tell herself that he's a heartless bastard and she hates him. It would be easier if she thought it were in any way true.

 

**

It lasts a month, this silence, this disappointment (because it wasn't real enough for it to be heartbreak, not yet.) She misses him, misses the possibility that she sensed when they were together. She's angry and sad and throws herself into her academic work despite Morgana's best efforts to get her to come to pubs and clubs and parties (and how Morgana has time to do all these things with an older boyfriend and a doctoral thesis on the go, Gwen doesn't know). She's not interested in 'putting herself out there' or meeting boys. Boys! With their football and their playstations and their Lynx deodorant; no, she's not interested in boys. It's ridiculous that one and a half dates could have ruined her for anyone else, she knows, but still.

It's late on a Thursday and Gwen's hurrying through the English corridor to hand her assessed piece on Feminism and the Gothic in to her tutor when she sees that Uther's door is ajar, just a crack. Uther's door is never open. Gwen's own tutor has a sticker on his saying 'my door is always open even when it's closed'; Uther's philosophy is quite the reverse, appointments only, no distractions. She can't help but peep through.

Uther is sitting slumped over his desk, staring into space. She's about to leave, it's no business of hers, he's made that clear, when he lifts his head and brushes a sleeve across his eyes. The thought of Uther crying, the mere possibility of it twists her heart in a way that makes her helpless to do anything but knock softly on the door and push it open, to go to him. She's never been able to stand to see anyone in pain, however badly they might have treated her.

She doesn't bother with 'are you alright', that much is plain. She stands before him, not too close,

"What is it?" she asks. He looks up at her and blinks.

"My son," he says curtly, "Arthur." It's like it pains him to say the name and she's assaulted for a moment by visions of graveyards and hospital beds and cars crashed into heaps of twisted metal. "He's _e-mailed_ me," and there's a sneer to his voice that chills her, "To let me know that he has no intention of returning to Camelot for Christmas. Or, in fact, at all." She says nothing, letting him speak. "I was never happy about him going to Manchester, you know, but I let him go, thinking he'd get all of this... nonsense out of his system, come back home, take up a decent career, get married... but he says he's no intention of coming back at all." He clenches his hands into fists, frustrated rage. Gwen doesn't know what 'nonsense' Arthur has got himself involved with, drugs, extremist politics, sleeping around, cults, but she knows how much he's hurt his father by his actions.

Gwen walks behind his chair to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, she can't stand idly by while he's in pain, she needs to touch, to comfort. He covers her hand with his own.

"This is all my fault," he says, a catch in his voice that doesn't seem right, he's always so proud, so strong and she hates to see him brought low like this. "I pushed him away after his mother died, like I push everyone away. Like I pushed you away, Guinevere."

"Shh, don't, it's ok, it's not your fault." She lets her hand slip to the back of his neck, rubbing in a soothing, circular motion. They stay like that for a while, until he finally looks up at her. The heat in his eyes takes her breath away as he pulls her in for a kiss. It's harsh and urgent and the angle's all wrong, he pulls her down into his lap and they gasp against each other's mouths, needy and desperate. His hands clutch at her shirt, working their way up beneath her top, palms warm and callused against her skin. She grips the back of his head firmly, kissing like kissing's all there is in the world. She shifts in his lap and he groans deep in his throat, almost a growl. Gwen entertains a brief fantasy of him laying her out on his desk and having his way with her, but instead he clutches her hand and whispers against her ear, a rough plea, "Come home with me."

 

She gives a breathless nod and they disentangle themselves, smoothing down their clothes as they attempt to walk briskly through the college corridors without arousing any suspicion. She knows, as she follows him to his car that they really shouldn't be doing this, that there should be talking, and explanations and assurances, but right now she really couldn't care less.

The car journey is short and silent, the air thick with the expectation of what is to follow. Uther rests one hand on her thigh, just where her skirt stops, fingers tracing patterns on her tights before creeping higher, just underneath her skirt, like a promise, and it's all she can do to keep her breathing even as her temperature rises.

The slam of the car doors as they get out seem to reverberate much louder than they have any right to, a shock like the sudden cold outside after the warmth of the car. Uther doesn't fumble with the keys, they're inside in no time and he has her pinned up against the back of the door, kissing and kissing, edging one leg in between her own. It's too much, this heady excitement, and she's on the verge of delivering some cheesy line asking him to show her his bedroom when he takes her hand and leads her upstairs.

Uther unties the band keeping her hair back and lets it fall loose. He unbuttons her blouse but doesn't remove it, they don't have time for such niceties as undressing. His hands are swift and sure, as if they know her body and where to touch it to make her gasp and plead. He sheds his trousers and reaches in a drawer of the nightstand, rummaging for a condom. She takes the time to look at him, take in the dips and juts of his body, the hair on his chest and the lines of his muscles.

"Are you - ?" is all he gets to ask before she responds with a breathy 'yes, yes', pulling him down on top of her. She likes it, the weight of him. It's too soon, really, but she needs this and she knows he does too. She arches back as he pushes into her, exposing her throat for his kisses and then it's all gasps and moans and shuddering breath.

Her heart pounds in the stillness when it's all over, eyes wide staring at the ceiling, sheet clutched to her chest and wondering whether she should leave when he curls an arm around her and whispers into her hair, "Stay."

*

Gwen expects it to be awkward the next morning. Uther's not there when she wakes up and she casts an eye around the room for her clothes, shimmying into her blouse and skirt but unable to find her tights, when he comes back in carrying a tray laden with tea and toast.

"Ah, you're awake," he smiles at her. "Here," and she's not sure if his hand shakes as he pours her cup of tea or if that's just her imagination. She sips the tea gratefully, risking a glance at him over the rim of her cup. "We should talk," he sighs, settling down onto the edge of the bed beside her and she nods, expecting a repeat of the 'it's not you it's me' speech he'd given her before in his office. "I'm sorry," he says instead, surprising her. "I should never have treated you the way that I did. I know I don't deserve you to hear me out, but..." He gives a self-deprecating shrug so she says, encouragingly,

"Go on."

"I suppose I got... scared. Yes. Not an easy thing to admit, but... You see, I loved my wife very much. It hasn't been easy since she died, not at all. This isn't the first time I've had... I mean, there have been liaisons, obviously. Dates." There's a slight sneer to his voice when he says it, and she's left to fill in the gaps with her imagination – being set-up by well-meaning friends, women who wanted more than he was prepared to give. "But this, you... it's the first time I've felt like this about someone since. You turned my world around, a little," he smiles at her. "And I wasn't sure I wanted you to. Besides, you're so much younger than me, I was sure you wouldn't want..." She frowns at that, at being second guessed, having these decisions made for her, it's something she's always hated. "And," he sighs, "I suppose I wasn't prepared for the comments, the looks. It was selfish and it was beneath me, and not what you deserved, Guinevere, and I apologise."

It's by far the most eloquent apology she's ever received. Gwen recalls one boy who cheated on her and tried to blame it on drink - _you know what it's like, baby, I didn't mean to_. And she does understand, she thinks. She doesn't want to say it's ok, because it isn't, not yet, but maybe it will be.

"And last night?" she enquires.

"I was hoping," Uther says, reaching for her hand, but letting it go again immediately, as though not wanting to pressure her. "That it could be the start of something... more."

"I'd like that."

He kisses her again and in no time they're back on the bed, wound in each other's arms, toast quite forgotten.

"I missed you," he murmurs, "It was so hard to stay away from you, you don't know."

"I do," she says, curling her fingers into his hair, "Believe me."

*

 

Uther has no lectures or tutorials to give until the afternoon, but Gwen has a shift at the coffee shop at eleven, so they eat breakfast together and he drives her onto campus, kissing her swiftly and sweetly goodbye. They agree that it's best if they don't rush into anything, so she goes home after work with a date the following evening to look forward to.

Morgana comes round, takes one look at her and folds her arms,

"You had sex," she announces. Gwen's mouth falls open.

"How do you know that?"

"Aha, so I am right. I have a sixth sense for sex, you know." Gwen can easily believe it. "So come on, then, who is he?"

Gwen tells her, smirking a little to see Morgana's eyebrows arch in disbelief.

"He's everything a girl could ask for, Morgana, good looking, a gentleman, kind and thoughtful."

"And rich," Morgana adds. "And good in the bed, judging from the glow on your cheeks." She pinches Gwen's cheek affectionately. "Well, I can't exactly disapprove of him if he's put the sparkle back in your eyes, can I? Just tell him if he hurts you again I'll cut his balls off and wear them as earrings." Gwen's not entirely sure she's joking. Except maybe about the earrings.

 

*

Their resolution to take things slowly lasts about a week. It's not because they're horny teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other, rather that they enjoy each other's company too much to do without it when there's no real pressing reason to keep apart. The sense of rightness, of mutual understanding, that Gwen had felt from that first afternoon in Browns hasn't gone away. There are moments of silence, when he clams up, occasions on which his knowledge surpasses hers in conversation; times, too, when she will mention a pop culture reference which leaves him staring blankly at her, or when his lip will curl in disagreement with some of her more liberal views.

They don't announce their new relationship to the whole of the college, but neither do they hide it. On campus, they are strictly professional, a smile, a wave, perhaps if they happen to pass each other but it's not all snogging in the coffee shop or groping in the library.

(Well, there is that one time they have sex in Uther's office, Gwen's knees trembling as she climbs onto his lap, his fingers in her mouth, no sound except the creaking of his chair and a few stifled moans, but that's a one-off.)

Mostly they go to restaurants or drive to quiet country pubs. They hire a punt along Camelot river even though it's really not the weather for it, Uther lends Gwen his leather gloves since her fingerless woollen ones aren't doing much to keep out the cold, and afterwards they have hot chocolate in Browns, with her hands wrapped around his to warm them again.

When the term ends and Gwen leaves to go home for the Christmas holiday, they embrace on the platform for longer than they should, uncaring that they are attracting odd looks. Gwen doesn't want to leave him, can't think of him spending Christmas alone with Wagner and a bottle of Scotch without a pang, but she can't not go to her parents either - he wouldn't want her to, Elyan's not coming again and she won't treat her parents the way Uther's son is treating him. They part, eventually, with promises of phone calls and wishes for a merry Christmas.

"I should bring you home with me," she says, even though she can't imagine Uther in her parents' house, watching Doctor Who with her dad and pulling a cracker with her mum, it's too ridiculous. "Maybe next year," she says, without thinking and is suddenly embarrassed, fearing a withdrawal, a non-commital 'we'll see' at the expectation of something so long term but he smiles at her instead,

"Next year," he repeats like he's saying something else, like a declaration.

 

*

Spending Christmas with her family and missing Uther, thinking of him alone, puts ideas in Gwen's head. He _has_ a family, after all, this Arthur up in Manchester who's turned his back on his father, seemingly. She knows next to nothing about him except that he's her age, or a year younger, and a keen fencer. Photos of a chubby cheeked blonde toddler, a goofy boy with an ear-splitting grin, a spotty teenager with a fencing foil in his hand are scattered about Uther's house.

The next time she's there, while Uther cooks dinner, she pays these photos closer attention. There's a large, posed photo of Arthur next to a blonde girl in a blue dress at what must be his school prom, she thinks. He's smiling but doesn't look at ease, although that's only to be expected, she supposes, thinking back to her own prom with a half-smile. The photograph that looks most recent is towards the back of the collection. Arthur's smiling easily in this one, wearing a Manchester University rugby top, a drink in his hand. She picks it up and notices that there's something funny about both the pose and the photo itself, as though it doesn't quite fit the frame. She turns it over and loosens the back and no wonder, the full photograph has been folded over in order to fit in. She takes it out and smooths out the creases. The hidden part shows Arthur's arm around a second figure, a dark-haired boy with a wide grin leaning against Arthur, clutching onto his arm. A faint feeling of unease stirs in her mind, although there's every chance that there's no significance to this, of course Uther would want a picture of just his son and not some random boy.

Curious, she digs her laptop out of her weekend bag and logs on to facebook. It's at once so obvious she wonders why she didn't think to do this before and creepy enough that she's not sure she should be doing it now, but she tells herself again that her object is to make Uther happy by attempting to reconcile him with his errant son and that in order to accomplish that she needs some kind of information.

She types 'Arthur Pendragon' into the search box. It's not a common name and the first picture on the list is the same as the one in her hand, Arthur and the unknown boy. She reads: Arthur Pendragon, 422 friends, studies at Manchester Univeristy, lives in Manchester, in a relationship with Merlin Emrys. She clicks on the name Merlin Emrys, knowing already what she will find and sure enough it's the dark haired boy from the photo, and just like that her faint feeling of unease grows to full on apprehension. This _can't_ be the reason Uther doesn't speak to his son, it can't. He's always been so thoughtful and never in the least like he's been hiding some kind of secret bigoted opinions and yet... her memory supplies her with recollections of Uther referring to 'inappropriate relationships', Arthur getting some kind of 'nonsense' out of his system, the way they've clashed, just a little, over certain issues in the past on which Uther clearly holds more conservative views.

Gwen closes the lid of the laptop and chews her lip, considering. It won't do to jump to conclusions before she's even spoken to Uther, perhaps this is just incidental. Perhaps.

He calls her then, to say that dinner is ready and she feels nervous, taking a large gulp of wine before poking her prawns with her fork.

"So," she begins brightly, "You never mentioned that your son was gay."

Uther chokes on his food.

 

*

It's their first real argument. Gwen's angry with him for his thoughtless intolerance, for not being quite the man she hoped he was. She's angry with herself, too, for jumping to unwarranted conclusions, assuming the worst of Arthur without knowing the facts, for being complicit in this disapproval of his son's relationship. Words fly like arrows,

"I hadn't had you pegged as a bigot."

"I'm not a bigot, it doesn't bother me that half the drama department are raging queers, I don't go out bashing boys heads in for wearing make-up. I don't have a problem with how other people choose to live their lives. But Arthur's my son! You don't understand."

"He's your son, exactly, how can you be so unfeeling?"

"It's a phase, he'll get over it."

"Do you think his mother would approve of your treating him like this?"

"Don't you dare bring Igraine into this! How on Earth can you know what she would have wanted?"

"I just mean, this divide between you, I'm sure it isn't..."

"There was no need for you to interfere, to poke into my affairs."

"So your happiness, your family, your life is none of my concern, is that it? I'm glad you've finally decided to be honest about how little I mean to you."

"Guinevere, you're overreacting."

"You're not the man I thought you were."

She doesn't stay the night. He doesn't try to stop her leaving.

*

As the week passes, with both of them too proud or too stubborn to call the other, her anger cools into a burn of disappointment and regret. He's in the wrong, as regards Arthur, she's certain of that. But the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that it isn't all there is to him. That she's in too deep now to break everything off just because she doesn't agree with all his opinions. After all, that's the very thing he's done to Arthur that she so disapproves of, isn't it? If you love someone, you accept them, regardless of... Gwen pauses and has to catch her breath as she realises that she's just thought that she loves Uther. And the more she thinks about it, the more she realises it's true. She loves him, she does, and although she's sad and shocked and disappointed at his behaviour towards his son, she isn't going to abandon him over it. Perhaps, she thinks she might even be able to change his mind, through gentle pressure and subtle persuasion. Perhaps that what would do all of them the most good, in the end. She doesn't want to leave him. She's not sure she _could_ leave him even if she did.

It's serendipity, or destiny, or something of the kind, she thinks, when her phone buzzes not ten minutes after this revelation. It's Uther, although he detests text messages. Testament to how awkward things are between them and how desperately he wishes to resolve them.

 

*

There are apologies on both sides for harsh words and hasty assumptions. She states calmly that she thinks he's wrong, she's not giving in on this, but they agree that it's not her choice to make and decide they can live with the disagreement. There's a period of recovery, true, they've both had their values challenged and their feelings hurt, but nothing seems to be able to change the way in which she's inexorably falling for him. And he for her, she thinks, hopes.

A couple of weeks after the blow-up he surprises her by picking her up from the coffee shop and announcing that he's taking her away for the weekend for Valentine's Day. This will be the first time they've been away together at all – she harbours no Bridget Jones-like longing for mini-breaks and Uther prefers to be in control of his environment, his office and his house are the castle and fiefdom of the narrow world of the insular academic. But Uther owns a flat in London, the perfect compromise, and what promises to be the perfect weekend.

 

*

They go for dinner in a restaurant so exclusive Uther must have booked it months in advance. They go to a bar, where they stay for only one drink before deciding to go back to the flat. It starts to rain lightly as they run for a cab, Gwen kicks off her heels and carries them under her arm, laughing breathlessly. Uther catches her arm and pulls her to a stop, kissing her right there in the street.

"Guinevere, you... you make me feel..." He stops, and she looks up at him.

"I know." She kisses his nose, giggles, and then runs, soaking her stocking feet in the puddles, as he chases after her.

They're still giddy when they get back to the flat. Gwen runs herself a bubblebath for her aching feet and Uther opens a bottle of champagne. He's bought her a card, too, a Medieval scene of a lady in a garden and a knight on a white horse. She smiles as she opens it, _To my Lady Guinevere,_ it's inscribed, unsigned. She lays it down on the table and pulls him in for a kiss.

"Isn't it about time I gave you your present?" she asks with a saucy smile.

 

*

The next morning she's making tea in the kitchen dressed in her lilac satin nightdress and dressing gown when there's the unmistakeable sound of keys in the front door. Gwen freezes. It can't be Uther because he's in the shower, she can still hear it running. She grabs a frying pan, ready to fight off burglars before it occurs to her that burglars would be unlikely to have _keys_. She creeps hesitantly towards the kitchen door as two sets of feet tramp into the front room.

"Wow. Are you sure your dad won't mind us using this place? He's not exactly my biggest fan, or have you forgotten?"

"Hardly. He's not going to mind, Merlin, because he's not going to know."

Through the crack in the door, Gwen can see Arthur – it must be Arthur – drop his bag down next to the sofa. "Dad never comes here anymore. I don't think he's even left Camelot in the last three years. Anyway, just focus on what we've got here. A flat. To ourselves."

"No Percival," Merlin turns to Arthur with a glint in his eye.

"No _Gwaine_." Arthur smiles at Merlin and walks towards him with a predatory smile. They collapse onto the sofa in a tangle of limbs and Gwen wonders whether she ought to make her presence known when Merlin reaches behind him and pulls out a satin bra from underneath a cushion on the sofa. Gwen lets out a sudden embarrassed squeak, remembering exactly how it got there the night before.

"Arthur," Merlin says, "If you've got a secret cross-dressing kink, I don't know why you've been hiding it these past three years." Arthur sits back, away from him, eyeing the garment suspiciously.

"I don't..." But Merlin frowns, picking something up from the table. "Arthur, who's Guinevere?"

"What?"

"'To my lady Guinevere'," Merlin reads. "What is this, Arthur? I thought you were the only one who came here. Is she your mistress? Oh god, is she your wife? Am _I_ your mistress?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," Arthur says. "I don't even know a Guinevere."

"Then what..."

"Um... I'm Guinevere." Gwen steps out of the kitchen, wrapping her robe tightly across her chest and giving them a sheepish smile. "Hi."

Merlin gives an undignified squawk. Arthur is the first to recover, eyes narrowing as he looks her up and down.

"And you're here because...?" It reminds her so much of her first meeting with Uther that she's momentarily lost for words.

"I'm... well, I'm here with Uther. Your father." She can feel her cheeks heating. "That is, he, we, er..."

The shower squeaks to a stop in the back room.

*

It's really impossible to say who is the most embarrassed out of the four of them. Arthur and Merlin at least have the advantage of being fully dressed, Gwen supposes.

"Arthur!" Uther is visibly taken aback at seeing his son. "What are you doing here?" His eyes fall on Merlin who is still sitting, shoulders hunched, on the sofa, trying to make himself invisible, perhaps.

"The same thing as you, I imagine," Arthur says, and the defensive note to his voice when he speaks to his father is such a marked contrast to his affectionate teasing of his boyfriend just minutes earlier it makes Gwen sad to hear it. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Of course." Uther's voice is strained, stilted. "Arthur, this is my girlfriend, Guinevere. Guinevere, my son, Arthur." Gwen can't help but thrill, just a little, at his calling her his girlfriend, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

"Call me Gwen, please," she says with a nervous smile. "And you must be Merlin," she continues, turning to the boy on the sofa, since it is apparent neither Uther nor his son are going to introduce him to her, preocupied as they are with glaring at one another.

"Hi," Merlin says with a quick grin. She flashes him a conspiratorial smile, rolling her eyes at the Pendragons. He lets out a snort which turns hastily into a cough.

"What is this?" Arthur demands, "Some kind of mid-life crisis? She's young enough to be your daughter!"

"I don't really think you're in any position to lecture me about the appropriateness of my relationship, young man!"

"Christ! There's nothing inappropriate... you know what, I don't know why I bother." Arthur throws up his hands in exasperation.

"I wasn't aware that you did bother." It's cutting, cold to a causal observer, but Gwen knows how much his son's decision to stay in Manchester pains Uther, although it's easy enough to see why he made it.

"Look," Gwen interrupts, before this can get any worse, "Why don't the two of you make some tea, or coffee, while we get more, er, presentable. Then we can all sit down and chat." Arthur's raised eyebrow shows exactly what he thinks of this plan and Uther has his mouth open to object when she takes hold of his arm and steers him back into the bedroom.

*

"The nerve of that boy!" Uther sits down on the edge of the bed, fuming. Gwen loses no time in shedding her nightie and donning a pair of jeans. "To bring this... _lover_ of his to my house!"

"Uther," she says, only a little exasperated, "They've been going out together for three years, they clearly adore each other, stop making it sound like some kind of sordid liaison. Goodness knows what they think of you bringing me here." She's no fool; none of their acquaintance at Camelot have commented on the age difference but for Arthur, to see his father with someone his own age, it must be strange, of course it must. And clearly Uther hasn't thought to mention her to his son at any point, which she might have been offended by if she'd thought that there was any point at which he might have had the chance, but she knows their relationship hasn't exactly afforded many opportunities for friendly father-son heart-to-hearts.

"I'll do as I like in my own house," he mutters, missing the point, deliberately, she thinks, but at least he's putting a shirt on. It's hard to know how much is genuine anger and how much just embarassment at being caught out this way, vulnerable. He fiddles with his cufflinks while Gwen pulls a blue peasant top on over her head and adds a swift swipe of mascara to her eyes. She crosses and presses a kiss to his temple.

"Be nice. For me," she pleads, before stepping back out of the bedroom.

There's no sign of the boys and for a second she thinks they've done a runner when she hears the whine of the kettle in the kitchen and the low hum of voices. She crosses to the door, ready to apologise, for Uther's comments, for the whole awkward manner of their meeting, but pauses at the threshold when she sees them embracing. Arthur's chin rests on Merlin's shoulder while Merlin threads his fingers comfortingly through his hair.

"We should go, shouldn't we? We should just go."

"Arthur, you've said that six times already. And believe me, hanging out with your homophobic father and his surprise teenage girlfriend wasn't exactly what I had in mind for this weekend either, but I think we should at least stay and talk to them."

"I suppose," Arthur groans. Merlin wraps his arms tighter around him.

"It'll be alright, babe, I promise." He pulls back to look Arthur in the eye before moving in for a kiss.

Gwen decides this moment is not for her to witness and slips away back into the lounge.

 

*

They sit, the sound of spoons clinking against the sides of mugs. It grates on her nerves and she's sure she's not the only one, but since nobody else seems willing to break the silence, she smiles and asks,

"So, did you two have any plans while you're down here?" Gwen feels like she's doing her best to hold the peace but it feels fragile, taught like an elastic band already stretched so far it might snap at any moment. She prays silently that they do have something planned other than shagging in the flat all weekend, or at least have the decency to pretend like they do. "Going to see any shows, or...?" she prompts.

"Yes, we're going to see Priscilla the Musical," Arthur says, deadpan. Merlin all but chokes on his tea as Uther scowls.

"Arthur hates musicals," Merlin explains when he's recovered. "We're going to see a band at the Roundhouse."

And she gets it then, this rift between father and son; they're both to blame simply because they're too alike, both stubborn, not willing to give an inch. Both too quick to lash out rather than admit they're hurt, let alone say _I'm sorry, I miss you_.

And the sad thing is, although she's seen only glimpses of Arthur, she can see the way he is with Merlin, protective, passionate, tender, as Uther is with her. This abrasiveness – this isn't them, either of them.

Something has to be done. Gwen knows she can't let this opportunity slip away. She thinks she might have an ally in Merlin, if she can get an opportunity to corner him.

"Lunch!" she says, suddenly. Three pairs of eyes look at her with varying degrees of suspicion and amazement. "We should have lunch. The four of us. Together. Out somewhere."

'Out somewhere' is key to the plan; however bitter they both may be, neither Uther nor his son will want to risk attracting attention with a public row.

Uther frowns, but acquiesces.

"If that's what you'd like," he says carefully, and if he's willing to give in to this, without argument, to please her, then maybe this has a shot after all. "Arthur, if you don't have any plans..." It's not quite an invitation, but it's a step in the right direction. Arthur looks round at Merlin – and it hasn't escaped anyone's notice that he wasn't included. Merlin gives him an encouraging thumbs up, and Arthur sighs.

"Very well, father."

Gwen tries to imagine calling her own dad 'father' with a straight face and fails completely. She can't help but wonder whether the lack of warmth in their relationship predates Arthur's coming out, after all.

*

The pub is a good deal cosier than the fancy restaurant of the night before, two worn brown leather sofas opposite one another in a secluded corner. Gwen helps Uther get a round of drinks from the bar while Arthur and Merlin whisper to one another in an agitated manner at their table.

"Uther," she catches him by the sleeve before he can reach for the drinks. She's thought this over in the cab on the way here and it needs delicate handling, she can't seem like she's telling him what to do, can't risk him shutting down, his natural defence mechanism. "Arthur seems a lovely boy." Never mind that Arthur has been a bit of a prat, or that he's only a year younger than her. Uther gives a neutral grunt, not committing himself either way. "You must be proud of him." He opens his mouth, then, but doesn't speak. Gwen gives him an easy smile, as if this is any ordinary casual lunch and not what basically amounts to family mediation. "I hope I can get to know Arthur better. He's the only family you've got, really." She doesn't take her hand off his arm the whole time. "I do so want your family to like me." She looks up at him, fixing him with her gaze. "It's important to me." And although this little speech is calculated, it's no less sincere for that, it _is_ important to her.

"Of course he'll like you." He covers her hand with his own reassuringly. She hopes her point about Arthur being his only family has sunk in. They pick up the drinks and head back to the table. Gwen wonders whether Arthur and Merlin have been having a similar conversation.

*

Merlin's fiddling nervously with the leather band around his wrist as they return, looking intently at the backs of his own hands and it strikes Gwen that he hasn't quite dared to make eye contact with Uther yet. But in buying Merlin a drink, Uther's made a big step towards actually acknowledging his existence and his right to be there, by Arthur's side.

Arthur gives Gwen cool looks as he sips his pint. She wants to tell him to grow up, just a little bit, but restrains herself, the last thing this situation needs is further antagonism.

"So Arthur, what are you studying? Uther hasn't mentioned."

"Funny that, seems there's a lot of things he hasn't mentioned." Arthur glowers. "Politics," he adds, and she's relieved to see that he's at least going to be polite enough to answer simple questions.

"Are you on the same course?" Gwen asks Merlin, who looks up sharply, as if surprised to be addressed.

"Uh, no, music, actually." He waggles his fingers, "Piano, mostly." He smiles and Gwen smiles back.

"How did you two meet, then?"

Beside her, Uther tenses. It's a big step up from acknowledging Merlin's existence to acknowledging their relationship. This clearly doesn't go unnoticed by Arthur, and he sits forward, a defiant posture, probably all geared up to feed his father another lie that will make him frown and splutter. Thankfully Merlin has noticed as well, and jumps in,

"Fresher's week. I saved him from the advances of a predatory older woman. Which he wasn't nearly as grateful for as he should have been. And then we sort of kept bumping into each other."

"Literally." Arthur's lips quirk into an involuntary smile.

"Until I got bumped into by a car. Arthur spent ten minutes haranguing the driver and then five hours with me in A&E."

"You needed me to hold your hand."

"You weren't complaining." Merlin grins at his boyfriend, who regards him with a fond look.

Gwen can't help but smile at the two of them, yet wonders how Uther can be oblivious to his son's obvious happiness. But perhaps, after all, Arthur has never let his father see how happy he is, has only ever had his guard up, hackles raised whenever he speaks to him.

*

"How about you two?" Merlin asks. He's only looking at her, though, and Arthur's looking at him, uncomfortable, while Uther sits up straight. This immediate reversal of their positions would be almost funny if the whole sorry situation wasn't so sad.

She gives them the edited version, a few longing looks across the department corridors and him asking her out at the coffee shop. Uther looks at her with such affection, then, eyes crinkling. But if Uther is oblivious to his son's happiness, Arthur is equally suspicious of his.

"How old are you exactly?" he all but demands.

"I'm twenty three next month," Gwen tells him smoothly, facing him down. "I'm quite old enough to make my own choices, thank you." If Arthur wants Uther to respect his choices he can damn well start by respecting _his_. She doesn't say that out loud, of course. She's not going to let him cast her as the wicked stepmother in all of this, not when all she wants is for them all to get along.

"You'll keep a civil tongue in your head," Uther says severely, leaping to her defence and really, if he'll stand up for her and Arthur will defy his father for Merlin then why can't they fight to hold on to their relationship with each other? They're each other's only family. But, Gwen supposes, that only means there's no buffers between them, making reconciliation all the more difficult. And right now, she and Merlin are not so much buffers as bones of contention between the two of them.

"My round," she says, getting to her feet, "Merlin, come and help me with the drinks." She fixes him with a significant look. There's no opportunity for refusal. Fortunately he gets it, rising and following her, leaving Uther staring helplessly after them and Arthur eyeing the half-finished pints on the table quizzically.

 

*

"So... Uther, really?" Merlin asks, one eyebrow raised in disbelief and she laughs, not offended.

"Yes, really," she replies. "He's not such an ogre, you know, not really."

"I guess we have different taste in men." Merlin pulls a face.

"Oh I don't know, I don't think they're as different as they'd like to think. I mean look at them." She gestures back at their table to where the two men are frowning at one another, poses almost identical. "Uther loves Arthur. He does. He didn't take it well when Arthur told him he wasn't moving back to Camelot."

Merlin is thoughtful.

"Perhaps."

Gwen orders only two drinks and perches on a bar stool. Merlin looks at her, glances back at the table and then hops up on a stool next to her.

"If you were a girl, we could disappear to the bathroom. If we smoked, we could go outside. As it is, this isn't a bad plan and at least we can keep an eye on them and make sure neither of them does a runner."

Merlin laughs at that.

"I like you already," he said.

"I like you too," Gwen assures him. "In a totally platonic step-family sort of a way. Obviously."

"Obviously." He grins, raising his glass to hers.

*

It's fifteen minutes later when they order the food, buy the second round of drinks and head back over to the table. Merlin suggests a stealthy return, creeping up on their respective boyfriends to hear whether they've managed to talk things out. From their glimpses across the bar, Gwen and Merlin can see that Uther and Arthur haven't sat in silence the whole time, neither one has gotten angry and walked out, but whether they're any nearer to a reconciliation remains to be discovered.

Neither Gwen nor Merlin are exactly practised in stealth and the couple of drinks they've had isn't exactly helping their coordination. Gwen has to fight down giggles as they press against the wall by their table, not feeling all that sensible or sophisticated right now. From her vantage point she can see Uther, leant forward, an earnest expression on his face, gesticulating with his hands.

"She's not replacing your mother, Arthur."

"I didn't think..."

"No, let me finish. I never thought, after your mother died that... but Guinevere is very special to me. This isn't just some kind of fling."

He doesn't say that he loves her, but then, she's not expecting him to, knows they're not the sort of words that come easily to him.

"I can understand that," Arthur says, a little less on edge than she's heard him thus far. "I want you to be happy, father," he says and it sounds heartfelt, a sort of plea in his voice as he continues, "Can't you want the same for me?"

"I do." There's a rough note in his voice.

"Then you have to understand that this is it for me. Merlin is it for me. There's never going to be anyone else. I need you to accept that."

Merlin is very still beside her. Gwen finds herself holding her breath, willing Uther not to waste this chance. She sees him incline his head.

"Don't you think you're a bit young to be..."

"Don't you think _Guinevere_ is?"

Merlin sneezes, then, and blows their cover. They emerge slightly sheepishly from behind the wall, place the drinks on the table and slide back into their seats. Gwen slips her hand supportively into Uther's and he squeezes back, just a little. On the other side of the table Merlin bends his head close to Arthur's and says, low but audible,

"You're it for me too you know, you prat."

He grins, and Arthur ducks his head, embarrassed.

Gwen asks a question about the band they're planning to see and Arthur shoots her a grateful look. Uther is quiet, and Gwen can't be sure whether it's just that he has nothing to contribute to the topic, or whether something about this all displeases him, still.

The food arrives and the conversation lapses. They eat in a silence that is not quite as uncomfortable as the one which accompanied their tea that morning and Gwen counts it as progress.

"We'd better go," Arthur says, almost as soon as the last fork is dropped onto the last plate. "We need to sort out a hotel or a hostel or something for tonight."

Gwen bites her lip apologetically.

"Of course," Uther says swiftly. "Or..." he hesitates. "Or you could stay at the flat. With us. There are two bedrooms."

Gwen wants to hug him. Arthur raises a disbelieving eyebrow. It's only when Merlin pokes him in the side that he manages to say, "Thank you, father. That would be... good."

*

Gwen and Uther spend the afternoon visiting the National Gallery. They walk arm in arm, admiring the art and they don't talk about Arthur. The Gallery cafe serves lemon drizzle cake and so they sit, sip tea, debate the merits of the pre-Raphaelites and discuss the translation of _Wulf and Eadwacer_ he's been working on .

By mutual agreement they choose not to eat out again, stopping by Sainsbury's to pick up pasta, sauce and a bottle of wine.

It's not until the spaghetti is simmering and the wine is poured that Gwen goes to him, wraps her arms around his waist and says,

"I'm proud of you, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I know it hasn't been easy, this situation with Arthur. But you, asking them to stay..."

"You don't mind?" He turns, then, and she slides her hands up so they hook around his neck.

"Of course not. I thought it was brilliant."

"If it hadn't been for you, I don't know that I could have," he says, his cheek against her cheek so he's not looking at her, "You make me..." He pauses. "Better."

She doesn't know what to say to that so she pulls him into a kiss instead. It starts off soft but quickly builds in intensity, his hands move to her belt, then below it, her fingers slip down to unbutton his shirt and run her fingers over the sparse coarse hair on his chest.

In no time he has her backed up against the kitchen counter with her legs wrapped around his waist. She pushes against him in time with his thrusts, hands seeking their way beneath his shirt, craving the urgent, whining noises he makes when she runs her nails down his back. She could pretend she doesn't get off on the idea of the possibility of them getting caught but this isn't the first time, after all.

It's all over far too quickly, their panting breaths barely audible over the sound of the water boiling on the hob and she giggles, a nervous reflex. They dress again hastily, shooting one another conspiratorial smiles as they attempt to salvage their dinner of now-over-cooked pasta and slightly burnt sauce before she leads him into the bedroom for a more thorough repeat performance.

*

Too wrapped up in their own bliss they hardly notice when Arthur and Merlin return some time past midnight. The next morning Uther doesn't remark on the smudge of eyeliner around Merlin's eyes or the suspicious red mark still visible on Arthur's throat. He shakes hands with them both as they leave; Gwen and Merlin embrace and exchange e-mails. And if it hasn't been the weekend any of them were planning, it's been one to remember, at least.

 

**

Uther asks her to move in with him in May. At first it's just so she can study for her final exams somewhere quiet, away from the chaos of her housemates and their continued inability to ever wash anything up. But when she talks about going back home, he asks her to make his house her home. Gwen frets for about 24 hours - is it too soon, what if things don't work out? Then she considers that so far in their relationship, diving headlong into things has worked out for them, it's only when they've been cautious that they've had problems.

In the summer the two of them travel to Manchester for Arthur's graduation. Uther doesn't quite manage to tell his son 'I'm proud of you', but he looks it, and he's _there_ and that's a start. Even if Gwen does have to grab his arm to prevent him from saying anything he might regret when Merlin tackles Arthur and kisses him enthusiastically the minute they step outside, to a chorus of whistles from their fellow graduates.

In the Autumn term Gwen starts her MA and so life goes on, with the two of them driving to campus together, having lunch in the quad when it's not raining and in the cafe when it is, dinners out on Friday nights and lazy sex on Sunday mornings, finding their way together and holding on to what they have.


End file.
